It was after midnight, and I’d just turned 36 years old. The estimated life expectancy for a trans woman of color had once been reported to be just 35. As I lay in bed facing the ceiling, tears made their way from the outer corners of my eyes and down the nape of my neck. I thought about everyone who had trudged with me through one of the most disenfranchised chapters of my life. Yet unlike myself, they didn’t make it. I thought about what their story would have been like had they received the opportunities I’ve been given over the years; they were most definitely worthy of them.

Although I’d officially “made it” and beat the statistic, the sense of urgency I’d carried prior to turning 36 hadn’t dissipated in the least bit. Instead, I continue to carry the burden of making sure my trans sisters “made it” as well. It’s what Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera would have done, and the fact that I’d beaten the most insurmountable odds while dangerously marginalized, proved me to be indomitable. In the words of Miss Major Griffin-Gracy, “When the dust settles, I want a whole bunch of transgender girls to stand up and say, I’m still fucking here.” I am still determined to push back against racial and gender-based injustices, now armed with the belief that Black trans women are not statistics. We are our ancestors’ greatest hopes, dreams and aspirations—and we deserve the chance to manifest our own.

My work isn’t done simply because I beat out a statistic formed by a system that continues to produce the conditions that keep those statistics in place. We must dismantle systemic transmisogynoir, which describes our experiences at the intersections of racism, sexism and transphobia. In the LGBTQ community, I’m faced with anti-blackness. In the feminist movement, I’m faced with the erasure of my womanhood. And in the Black community I have to prove that Black trans lives matter too, without my plight being deemed a distraction from collective Black liberation.

If anyone were to zoom out and examine the obstacle course Black trans women have to navigate in order to have our essential needs met, and be treated with basic respect and dignity, it would become abundantly clear as to why we succumb to our circumstances. When we exist outside of the lines of respectability, we’re not offered employment. If we’re not employed, we don’t have access to housing or healthcare. If we don’t have either of those, many of us engage in riskier survival-based behaviors that cause greater health disparities and also find ourselves caught in the clutches of the prison industrial complex. And that’s if we’re not murdered by someone who preys on our vulnerability. When these experiences overlap with one another, a precious life is ripped away from the world.

When the COVID-19 pandemic hit, it compounded the pre-existing challenges Black trans women face. Concerned for everyone, especially Black trans women, I immediately got to work. Typically, I’d be in the field providing direct aid, or on the frontline protesting for racial justice given the recent string of Black murders. However, I have asthma and other respiratory complications, making me much more susceptible to contracting COVID-19. I started exploring ways I could support Black trans women, Black people in general, and every other vulnerable community disproportionately impacted by the pandemic, while practicing self-care. Practicing self-care has afforded me the opportunity to care for others.

I launched a campaign called #YouAreEssential to fund grassroots organizations serving the needs of America’s most marginalized. I also launched a sub-initiative called #PridePledge, which asks major corporations that have sponsored Pride festivals all across the country, to reallocate a percentage of their earmarked funds toward vulnerable members of LGBTQ community. Since Pride festivals all across the country were canceled, myself and more than 20,000 people who’ve signed the change.org petition are asking corporations to show up and get to know the real LGBTQ community that exists outside of their marketing deck. I was swiftly reminded of not only the ways in which capitalism, structural and institutional racism were designed to prevent the disenfranchised from thriving, but also how complicit many of our self-proclaimed allies are. Here I am, fighting on the margins with every ounce of my being for every community my identity overlaps with, and yet I find myself still having to convince our allies that our lives matter, too.

To those with their hearts set on supporting Black trans women, I first recommend doing your research. Coming to us for education that’s readily accessible on the internet creates more labor for us than we’re already forced to do because of the cross-cultural ties within our movement work. Once you’ve taken the initiative to inform yourself on our experiences, bring an open heart and mind, willing feet and helping hands. Purchase books and other works from Black trans authors, academics and activists. By doing this, you can educate yourself and economically empower us. Break the information down into pieces. Read books on trans identity and anti-Blackness as you’ll begin to understand the nuances better. Donate money to organizations lead by Black trans people and offer direct aid however you can.

Author, academic and activist Angela Davis once said, “In a racist society, it’s not enough to be non-racist. We must be anti-racist.” That means if a White person isn’t actively working to dismantle systems of anti-Blackness, they’re actively benefiting from it. The epistemology of ignorance delves into the way those unwilling to confront their own inherent racism gaslight Black and/or trans people to avoid the work. They intentionally, and quite militantly, mentally bypass their understanding of race and gender, as not to disrupt their delusions of progressiveness and their notions of what it means to be a “good person.” When other White people encounter this archetype, they must hold a mirror up to them and not exacerbate their cognitive dissonance by infantilizing them. Saying nothing is not an option for anyone who considers themselves an ally. Stop leaving us to fight for our lives, while educating the unwilling, and trying to save the lives of others. We shouldn’t be tasked with dismantling a system we didn’t build.

Allyship was never meant to be convenient. It was never meant to be comfortable, come with a reward card, more followers or pats on the back. It was meant to be disruptive, uncomfortable, inconvenient and messy. Put your voice on the line, your body on the line, your social and monetary capital on the line. This is what true allyship looks like. When it comes to whiteness and privilege in America, there are no innocent bystanders.